Armored Intervention
by NCR Ranger
Summary: As the Militia continues its fight against the relentless onslaught of the IMC, a young rifleman yearning to be a pilot will get an up close view of just how crucial a Titanfall can be.
1. Chapter 1

Frontier Planet Ayyers 4

Outskirts of largest city: New Sydney

Current Location: Town of Keylmar

* * *

" Raise your hand if you think we could use a Titan ! "

Crouched in a three point stance behind a low, well worn and battered stone wall that ringed the perimeter of one of the neighborhood the residential area, his V-47 Flatline Assault rifle braced over the top of it, and a grimy coating of dust covering him from head to boots, Rifleman Jack Cooper subconsciously wondered which of the nearby militiamen had expressed such wistful thinking. Consciously, though, he tried not to pay any attention.

Even though, however, whoever had said that was right. The men of Sequoia Company, 41st Militia Infantry Battalion, definitely needed some serious backup right about now.

Half a mile downrange, wading through a sprawling field of Durum wheat, came about fresh battalion of IMC regulars,accompanied by a platoon's worth of Spectre combat mechs.. They were advancing with a good tactical spread, moving at a pace that was roughly a jog. Their white uniforms stood out starkly against the amber waves of grain.

All too starkly.

Made it easy to count how many of them there were, and the numbers weren't in Sequoia's favor. The IMC outnumbered them at least 7 to 1, and a third of them seemed to be 'Heavies ': equipped with LMGs, and shield emitters.

They did have a good defensive location, though. Besides the low wall, they were sitting at the top of a hill that had at least a 45 degree slope on it ( Presumable, then, that the wall was there to keep children from tumbling off the edge ) but with the enemy outnumbering them roughly 4 to 1, and with reinforcements unlikely to arrive before the assault began, a tough strongpoint wouldn't save them. Not for long anyway. There were plenty of battles throughout history proving that.

Monte Cassino. Narva Bridgehead. Iwo Jima. Berlin. In all of them, the defenders had held the advantage, but in each case, they were defeated, in spite of how well entrenched they were.

A bead of sweat appeared on Jack's forehead, slowly sliding down.

He resisted the urge to wipe it away. Instead , he adjusted his grip on the V-47's barrel, steadying it again.

They'd been here for the past few hours, fending off probing attacks for the past one and a half, including a high speed windstorm swept clouds of gravel over them. Still, he had to keep it together and focus now. The position Sequoia occupied was at the center of the 41st's right flank, and if the IMC crashed through here, they'd fan out, attack the rest of the flank from the rear, and make the entire position untenable.

Didn't they all sign up for such odds ? Yes, but that didn't make it any less taxing on them.

It seemed that was the mood amongst most of the troops, or at least the ones in Jack's squad. It was all over their faces, on both the experienced and rookies alike, some subtle, others not. At least nobody had claimed they weren't scared. Anybody who had would've been called out as the liar they were.

Everyone, though, was aware of the gravity of their situation and the ramifications of failure.

Besides, if they actually pulled this off, command would have a glorious story about a tiny band of heroes stopping a enemy force multitudes bigger than them, so they could put it up all over the open news channels. Demoralize the IMC, and inspire Militiamen everywhere.

 _Garbage. You're letting your mind wander. Stop it, Jack._

* * *

 _Clack._

Amid the chaos of battle- the ear pain inducing, nonstop cacophony, with the sharp hammering, clattering noise of bullets being spit downrange ( and more coming right back at them )- the clack of a weapon as it ran dry, were what you focused most on.

He'd been counting the rounds. He knew he was empty, as he watched the action snap open.

Instincts and training took over immediately. Dropping to a knee, and pressing his left shoulder against the wall, he reached to his web gear to retrieve a fresh clip, moving as if on autopilot.

He seized the clip, slammed it home.

 _Click._

Jack had reloaded 4 times already.

Putting the rifle back over the wall, he pressed the trigger yet again. The V-47's muzzled flashed as it spat out more 5.45mm rounds at the oncoming enemy, now only 400 yards away, their own rifles hammering away.

Heavy cloud cover had rolled in, but even under the shadows, the enemy's low flash gunpowder didn't sparkle so much as it winked. There still seemed to be so many.

Within the past hour, the tide of the battle had ebbed and flowed. Opening fire at nearly the nearly the same moment, the IMC and Militia had fought to their strengths right from the outset: The Milita had stayed hunkered behind the shelter of the wall, staying as low as they could. It offered at least some protection from the increasingly heavy weight of fire( hardest hitting of which were the searing bolts of plasma from the Spectre bots' L-STARs ) that was battering them, as the IMC relentlessly continued to try and gain yards.

And would keep trying. And, at this rate, it seemed they might actually make it there. Sequoia had taken significant losses over the course of the fight, with at least a third of them casualties by now. Most had been stuck by the concussive blasts of the 'heavies's grenade launchers, and more only hadn't been lost by the fact that the company had wisely been spread out along the defenses beforehand.

 _We need reinforcements. We needed them yesterday. I know the Militia's stretched thin here, but still._

 _Maybe I was right about that morale boosting story. Ha. Small comfort._

He spaced his shots out. This magazine had to last as long as it could.

" Grenade ! "

The yelled warning from just off to his right caused him to involuntarily flinch. Reflexes again kicked in, though, and he turned that way to find an IMC fragmentation grande than had landed on the dewy grass.

Adrenaline surged, as fight for flight activated. For a nanosecond, he considered trying to grab it, and throw it back, but just as fast decided against it. He dived away-


	2. Hello, big friend

At least he hadn't tried to grab that frag and toss it back.

Lying face down, his ears ringing furiously, Jack had to grit his teeth against the pain that now covered the back of his legs. It was as if needles, pins and nails, had pierced him in so many places there.

Worse, aside from the pain, his limbs, ( and, the rest of him ) felt sore, and leaden. Somehow, though, he managed to push himself up off the ground, inhaling sharply at the stinging pinpricks the grenade had left, and the terrible spinning sensation that now filled his head.

" Cooper ! "

Someone was yelling at him, and from relatively close by, but he couldn't place who it was.

" COOPER ! "

Who was that ? Jack tried to shake away the disorientation, and mostly succeeded.

A hand suddenly got ahold of his shoulder and pulled him around. Jack found himself face to face with a Militaman even more dust and grime covered than he was, with a scarred chin and Field Medic's insignia on his chest armor plate.

 _A medic ? How fortuitous._

 _"_ Hold still, Rifleman ! "

The medic, who's fatigue name tab red " McKennis ", seemed indifferent to the bullets that still regularly cruised past around them at over 1,000 ft. a second, as she shone a medical flashlight into Jack's eyes.

Gasping in surprise, Jack reflexively blinked. Suddenly, all the noise and enegery of the battle came rushing back into his senses full force. More than any of them, the _noise_ hid the hardest. Painfully strong, it was back to hammering at his ears. The gunfire, the detonating grenades that exploded against the wall, orders yelled and targets called out.

Now he sure he was alive, and mostly ok to boot. Just as important, he realized that his rifle, the trusty and reliable V-47, was still there, lying beside him.

 _That was a close one. That frag came too close._

Dealing with that would have to wait, though. He felt himself sliding back into ' the zone ', back into combat mindset. The chaos swirling around was still as jarring as ever, but he was set to face it again.

Meanwhile, McKennis finished his examination, returning his med gear to its satchel. " Allright, Rifleman Cooper. You're still combat ready. "

Jack nodded his understanding. He grabbed the V-47, stood, and made his way back to the much abused wall.

 _Once more unto the breach._

Bracing his weapon on the stone, he opened up on the enemy.

They'd clawed their way to within a hundred yards of the Militia forces. They'd paid heavily for it-fallen IMC, wounded or dead, littered the slope behind them-but there no small number of them still able to fight, and they were pressing the attack with fervor now. White armored troopers gestured to one another, urging comrades on.

The fight seemed to be reaching its tipping point. A knife edge where it could go either way, but right at the moment, it seemed ' that was in favor of the IMC. Militia casualties were mounting, ammunition was becoming low, and there wasn't any backup or evac to speak of.

Fighting that way up till now, the Militia had held on, but even as Jack threw himself back into the fight, zeroing in on what stepped in front of his irons, a large part of him was becoming sure they couldn't win.

The solider in him loathed that part.

 _Can we win, or or we just costing ourselves good men to hold ground that we can't ?_

* * *

The V-47 was completely empty now.

Jack was down to his RE-45 handgun, the IMC was so close. The V-47 was slung over his back, nothing but dead weight. He grasped the little weapon with both hands, feathering its trigger as fast as his index finger could flex.

Hot brass flipped and tumbled out, its muzzle flashed, and Jack fought off a rising sense of anger.

 _No. We didn't fight so hard, and lose our friends to let them roll us back !_

 _But, we_ can't hold _here much, if any, longer ! We're just about out of ammo, most of us are using our pistols, bad guys are virtually on top of us, and if they get through, the town will fall to them !_

He fired the RE-45, teeth gnashed.

 _Out of room, out of tricks._

Suddenly, completely out of the blue,above the din of the battle, above the reverberating chaos of the fight, a loud cracking rumble came from nearly directly overhead.

Every combatant on the field, IMC and Militia alike, recognized it at once:

Jack craned his neck, and was greeted with one of the greatest spectacles any infrantryman could hope for from those on his side:

 **A Titanfall.**

* * *

It was a statement second only to a nuclear strike, a landing Titan. There was no argument about it.

They invoked awe and terror in equal measure among the those in the infantry, depending on who that Titan was fighting for. The mere appearance of one, falling while wreathed in fire and slamming into the ground, then standing like a gleaming metal sentinel, with its weapons leveled and ready to unleash a maelstrom of death upon its enemies.

In a flash of light, a thunderous, reverberating boom, and a swirling cloud of dust, the hulking, 24ft tall mech slammed feet first into the ground, just a stone's throw in front of the wall.

Jack couldn't speak.

Not out of fear, but pure, unfiltered relief. He felt the jagged edge of raw tension slipping off.

 _Its one of ours ! Its a MCOR Vanguard !_

The instant effect of the Titan's presence, and just as importantly , its intelligence, was felt by every living soul on the field. Militamen gaped in momentary and profound shock, before erupting into a explosion of enthusiastic appreciation. After all they'd been though up to now, battling against odds that seemed insurmountable for sure, with defeat or capture appearing certain, help had finally arrived.

The IMC, on the other hand, seemed just as horrified and dismayed. Several troops revealed themselves to be rookies when they actually stumbled backward and tripped over their own feet.

Most of them would not stand again.

Because it was then that the Titan got to work. Reaching over its back, it unlimbered a truly fearsome weapon: a 25mm chaingun that seemed designed to put holes in the hull of a battleship.

It leveled the massive cannon at the IMC forces.

And it opened fire.


	3. Real Steel

Crouched behind the wall , with his smoking handgun still clenched in one hand, Jack Cooper observed the systematic annihilation of the enemy.

He'd always thought of Titans, and by extension, their pilots, as a modern reincarnation of the Knight, and his horse. Jack had heard stories from riflemen of other units, who'd witnessed Vanguards in action on battlefields on planets across the frontier. They talked about how just one of the burly machines could turn the tide of a fight, withstanding waves of well aimed and concentrated gunfire from entire enemy squads, while unleashing enough firepower to match that of a whole company. Firepower, produced by weapons from a fearsome arsenal, like railguns, energy beam rifles, napalm grenade launchers, and high caliber autocannons.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Titans, they said, could do things like project a solid barrier of energy in front of them for protection, or even _stop bullets in midair._ They, and their pilots, were the masters of the most advanced technology Humanity had.

But, allegedly, all that combat prowess still wasn't the whole picture. By all reports, the Pilots themselves were the _real_ deciding factor.

They evidently could move across the battlefield as nobody else could even hope to. To them, obstacles that would stop cold anyone else- sheer walls, gaps between rooftops, a high ledge several yards up- were nothing but flanking routes and alternate paths to them. They could dance across a battlefield, moving with speed and agility that only they had, using specialized miniature jetpacks- ' jump kits'- that let them move that way.

Combine that with their dexterity at the helms of their Titans, and you had one formidable combination.

Jack had immediately wanted to watch that in action. He'd yearned for it, though he hadn't ever told anyone. It would make him seem like some kind of adoring fan ( even though that could've been forgiven, he also knew ). But, undoubtedly, if he could just have one battle, with a friendly Titan fighting on his side-

It'd be worth it. And now, here it was, actually happening.

There was a bull in the china shop.

" Its a Vanguard. ", Jack heard McKennis whisper, not far to his right. " I've seen them before. That's a Vanguard-class Titan ! "

Standing unmoving on its pillar-like legs, halfway between the wall, and the leading edge of the faltering IMC's remnants hugging the ground, the Titan, its stocky, solid, olive colored armor plated chassis gleaming, brought its chaingun to life with a echoing, vicious mechanical roar that boomed across the battlefield. A fusillade of white hot shells spewed from its muzzle in a tight, controlled pattern, with the pilot methodically working it back and forth over the enemy's shattered squads.

It _erased_ them, like sand washed away under a firefighter's hose.

There wasn't any other word for it. Entire fireteams just disappeared into clouds of dust and shattered rock as the storm of shells carved through them. Said shells left vibrant, glowing orange tracers trailing behind them, and so tightly packed, they resembled a beam of pure energy. The cannon itself roared and rattled like a wild beast, a cascade of spent casings tumbling like a waterfall from its side ejection port. The tip of the weapon's barrel had turned the shade of ash, heated white hot.

IMC personnel yelled out in rage, confusion, and shock all in equal measure. They scattered under the torrent of death coming from the Titan, with every other solider failing to make it into what scant cover there was; craters gouged out of the ground, and scattered boulders, instead getting consumed by the pulverizing salvos.

Driven to ground, the survivors dug in. They stayed low, and returned fire. Tracers filled the air from their guns, painting the Titan.

Most of them hit home, but it didn't seem to be doing much good. Instead of striking the Titan's olive colored armor plates, they sparked off a glimmering _energy_ barrier ! The envelope of energy rippled and flashed, as it stopped the kinetic force and absorbed the plasma bolts from the remaining Spectre L-STAR gunners who were still up and fighting.

How long could that last ? Not indefinitely, for sure, but long enough to finish the job.

It was then that its cannon ran dry finally ran dry, its barrels cooling rapidly and smoke hissing from its muzzle. The loud silence didn't last though. With astonishing speed for something so big, though, the Titan reached over, pulled the spent ammunition canister free, and within seconds, it rammed a new one home.

The fusillade resumed.

" Squad ! "

The booming shout from Jack's squad leader- a tall sergeant named Nealson with a distictive New York accent- carried surprisngly easily over the still loud as sin noise of the battle. He'd been walking the length of the squad's section of the wall, directing thier fire and calling out targets. Now, he was crouched a few riflemen down the line from Jack, hand to his earpiece communicator, receiving orders from the company commander.

" Company's prepping to move up ! Stand by ! "

More adrenaline rushed through Jack. They were about to go over the wall, to charge the enemy and finish them off once and for all.

With the Titan- the magnificent machine and its pilot-having softened the IMC up like pasta in hot water, Sequoia had a real chance of sweeping them off the field, and defeating them outright.

They could secure this victory.

Jack double checked his RE-45's magazine: A full load of Harpoon tip rounds, and 4 reserves. It wasn't much. But it was all he had, so it would have to be enough.

He held it in both hands now, shifting his stance, and awaited the command to climb over the top. There was little left of the enemy now; this couldn't take long.

 _Don't get overconfident now,_ he had to remind himself. _We've nearly won, but we're still not there yet. Keep your guard up._

 _Always expect them to save their ace in the hole for when you think you've won._

He glanced around at his squad. Everyone seemed ready, topping off their magazines ( from what limited rounds they had left ), and keeping watch on what was happening downrange. The stress of nearly getting pushed to the border of total defeat showed on everyone ; Jack noticed several of them clenching and un-clenching their hands, clearly determined to get in close and _finish_ the job.

He couldn't blame them for-

 _Boom !_

Out of the blue, the now unmistakable sound of a Titanfall cracked through the air.

Put together, that was enough to make Jack nearly jump. He instantly craned his neck up, watching its amazing decent.

 _Another Titan ?!_

His mouth felt dry.

Two Titanfalls, back to back ?

" Sarge ! ", Jack shouted . " Think that's one of ours ?! "

Nealson didn't respond at first. He tracked the Titanfall silently, as did Jack, and everyone else in the company.

Even the Titan had taken notice. Its thundering chaingun had just run empty again, and it was in the middle of replacing the ammunition canister. Its pilot had no doubt spotted the inbound Titan.

But whose side was it on ?

" IMC ! ". Nealson suddenly bellowed. " INCOMING IMC TITAN ! "

And, sure enough, seconds later, as the Titan neared the ground, the army it fought for became clear :

White IMC armor.

* * *

Jack had been in the fight of his life, nearly been killed by a grenade, and witnessed his first Titanfall, all within one day.

And he thought he'd already been stunned enough. Well, that wasn't the case now. Not anymore.

He and the rest of Sequoia had been in the middle of clambering over the wall, when the now-recognized-as-an-IMC Titan had appeared and began its fall. As it hurtled toward the ground, squad leaders bellowed at their men to get back to cover. Enthusiastic riflemen who'd just leaped over the wall now scrambled to get back to where they'd been, some _diving_ back over it.

In the distance, they could hear the ragged, and frustratingly elated- shouts of IMC troopers, as their Titan marched forward.

It was a lean, agile appearing machine, and it moved with alarming speed. Only at a " jog ", but a Human would have to sprint like their life counted on it too keep up.

Suddenly, it unlimbered its weapon, and brandished it:

A sword.

It was armed with a _sword._ It must've been over half as tall as the Titan itself !

Even more shocking, the weapon seemed to be electrically charged. Wrapping around it, were crackling bright azure arcs of currents. It was unquestionably one of the most fearsome weapons Jack had ever observed wielded by anyone, or anything.

 _They've called in their equalizer._

 _"_ Stay low ! ", Jack found himself yelling, thought he knew even then it wasn't needed.

After all, everyone had watched what a Titan could do. They'd seen how powerful they were.

Now, they were about to again, but this go around, the playing field had been changed.

One Titan vs another.

 _A Titan duel ?! And we're right here. They'll be slugging it out, right in front of us !_

 _If our champion loses-_

As if on cue, the Vanguard stomped forward, with immensely heavy-appearing steps, but still with that fluid grace that something as big as itself shouldn't have. It brandished its cannon, fully loaded, and ready for action, at its enemy facing it across the field.

The other Titan swung its sword up, gripped it with both hands.

It began to sprint.

* * *

The sharp, echoing _clang_ of metal striking metal, grinding against it, getting dented and rent, rang in everyone's ears.

The two Titans had met in a viscous duel. The Vanguard, cannon blazing, had pounded the oncoming IMC Titan with its salvos of shells, but the sword-Titan, with spectacular dexterity, had ducked and weaved through the storm. It had used its sword to good effect, twisting it back and forth, and deflecting many of the shots.

Realizing his opponent knew how use his Titan to its full potential, the Vanguard stowed its cannon, balled both hands into fists, and began to run straight ahead. This fight would be decided up close and personal, brawling and pummeling each other in a no-holds barred clash of equals.

As the green mech rushed forward, Jack, Sequoia, and everyone else present, could only watch.

He couldn't speak; not for what the others in the company were were thinking, or even at all. This, what was occurring right here and now, had eclipsed everything he'd witnessed up till now. He was, he thought, a spectator to a gladiatorial match of the toughest machines of war humanity had ever deployed onto a battlefield.

Titans, about to be locked in a fight to the finish.

Now, they were giving it everything they had.

With a sweeping, graceful arc, the Sword-Titan brought its blade around and forward, aiming right at the Vanguard's cockpit.

Jack's pulse rate shot up.

 _Clang !_

The Vanguard's arm had come up, at just the right angle to deflect the blade without getting cut. In the same handful of seconds, its other arm lashed out, a fist punching at the sword-Titan's shoulder. But, with a dancer's grace, the sword-Titan twisted out of the way, and lifted its sword high, swinging it now for the Vanguard's shoulder instead, attempting to sever one of its piston-like punching arms off.

With a burst of speed, the Vanguard lunged forward, trying to get in even closer. It was quick, but some of the teeth of the sword made contact, and Jack was stuck with a moment of shock as a piece of plating came flying off the Vanguard's armor. But, a second later, that was replaced with elation as the Vanguard collided with the enemy, rocking it back.

Capitalizing, the Vanguard brought _both_ fists up, bring a massive hydraulic force to bear. Two pitted dents appeared in the enemy's plating. But, a half second later, its own plating received some damage, as the sword came back, and carved into its left arm, slicing off even more armor and sending a shower of sparks away and out.

Seemingly enraged, the Vanguard's pilot pivoted his Titan into an elbow strike, using his right arm. Another dent, now nearly in the center of the Sword-Titan's cockpit.

" That's rattled his teeth ! ", a rifleman yelled, and many others who heard him echoed it.

Jack was still too captivated to reply, but he shared that sentiment just the same.

 _This is- I can't think of what's right to express what this is._

By now, the battling Titans were a single blur of motion, of showering sparks and the razor sharp _clang_ of metal getting torn and hit by metal. The fight was as loud as it was violent.

But, who seemed to be winning ?

Both, it seemed. The Vanguard's chassis was crisscrossed by trenches carved by the sword-Titan, while said sword-Titan was festooned with dents and gouges. Both Titans were still steady on their feet, but at this rate of damage, that couldn't last for too much longer.

It really was a real battle of men and machines, fighting as one.

 _Clang !_

A devastating right hook from the Vanguard sent the Sword-Titan( which Jack had decided to refer to as a ' Samurai ' ) to the ground, wrenched to one side, its sword stabbing into the ground.

It recovered, and managed to stand up yet again, but that powerful blow had done worst; an actual gap had opened in its armor, and a steady volume of sparks came off from the wounded section. One more good hit there would tear the cockpit open, and leaving its pilot exposed to certain death.

The ' Samurai ' wasn't ready to take that lying down, at all. It braced itself, brandishing its sword at an aggressive angle that directly shielded its abused cockpit. It was obvious now, that the next attack from either side would result the end of the fight.

" Final round ", Jack said, to nobody in particular. " Only one walks away now. "

This was it.

One of these mechanical sentinels would be annihilated.

 _Don't let it be ours._

The Vanguard threw itself into one final stampeding rush, amassing speed, and zeroing in on its mark like a angry bull.

The ' Samurai ' held its position. Its sword glinted, ready to be swung into the Vanguard for a finishing slash.

Abruptly, the Vanguard astonished everyone, by _launching_ itself into the air. J _umping._ Over a dozen tons of Titan soared up and into the sky.

Jack's mouth actually fell open. There was something brilliantly surreal about this, about a _Titan jumping,_ as much as fighting.

There was no doubt in his mind now: Titans, and their pilots, were the deciding factors in any battle.

The ' Samurai 's sword was in motion again. One handed, it swung toward its target with a truly vicious force behind it.

Above, the Vanguard's right fist was cocked back, ready to deliver a true deathblow.

The sword closed in.

The fist traveled forward.

Then, both struck.

* * *

The field was oddly quiet.

Just a moment ago, it had rang with the din of two Titans slugging it out in the midst of a furious clash. It had echoed with the thundering roar of them battering each other to death, of a duel between bipedal tanks armed to the teeth and piloted by the elite of their respective armies.

It had been very loud, and now it was very quiet.

All along the Militia's line, and in the improvised foxholes the IMC infantry had dived into, everyone looked on in stunned silence.

The Titans seemed frozen, locked into place. The 'Samurai 's sword was buried halfway lengthwise into the Vanguard's flank, bitten through solid plating and embedded there, a gaping, roughly torn gash that seemed painful even in metal.

But, the Vanguard _still_ stood. And, its own attack had done even heavier damage.

Much heavier.

Its fist was buried into the cockpit of the ' Samurai ', up to the forearm, squarely through the middle.

There could be no argument: The IMC pilot was dead.

With a wrenching screech of metal, the Vanguard pulled its arm free. Fragments of debris were poking out of it, and its curled fingers were covered in scratches.

And blood. A visceral indicator that there would be no captured pilot for the Militia today.

The ' Samurai ' tottered, now not much more than a hollow, mangled shell. With a faint keen of hammered and shredded gaps in its chassis, it finally toppled over.

Crashing into the dust, dead as its pilot.

In that moment, the silence returned, but now, its had an undeniable truth, one that filled each and every IMC trooper with crushing despair, and every Militiaman with raw triumph.

The battle was over.

The Militia had won.


	4. Another day in country

His canteen was already empty.

Rifleman Jack Cooper tipped it back, till it was vertical, shaking and rattling it to get out the very last dregs. A handful of drops, thankfully still cool, fell out, and into his parched mouth, removing at least some of that dreadful, cottony dryness.

That was all, though. It was all the canteen had left.

 _Really should've rationed it out better. Agh, I made my handgun ammo last through the fight, but my canteen's empty already_

 _Damn it._

Thirst un-quenched, Jack could only let the arm holding it fall back to dirt, and lean his sweat slicked head against the wall. It was about as far from a pillow as he could get, but it was _something_ to rest on. And did he need that.

After living through a battle that had easily been the grueling of Jack's short career as a rifleman, he needed a lot more than that. But, he'd take what he could get in the here and now, not that there was much choice.

That had been a hell of a clash of arms.

He tried not to be too distracted by the lingering tension that still filled his body, or the last of the sweat still stuck to him, as he watch the rest of Sequoia deal with the aftermath of their hardest won victory to date; many, as he was, were sitting exhaustedly back against the wall, swigging from their own canteens and taking in some much needed hydration. Others just sat, drained and run down, their surges of adrenaline from combat having run out.

They were tired, grimy, and mostly spent.

And they should be. Surveying them, Jack was reminded that, while he and others had indeed survived, there were also many Militiamen who hadn't made it. From as soon as the battle had ended, it had stayed with him, in the depths of his subconscious. He knew it was there, a cold, distant ghost. Pushed there, because he'd needed to focus on staying alive. but now that it was over, the ghost was revived.

Jack had been here before. With each battle, that ghost came back, again and again.

 _Sooner we win this, the sooner it'll be quiet. Because then, their demise will have been for_ something _. Even then, they'll not be forgotten. Not ever._

And they hadn't ever seemed prouder.

Jack reciprocated that pride fully. Sequoia was a good unit, a tough and resilient one. They'd come through the thick of heavy action before, and though none of them had been as heavy as this, the end result of them was the same: no matter how rough it was, win or lose, they stayed as a _unit_. A cadre of companions who'd lean on each other when they needed to.

Such as now. Armies headed to war for all kinds of causes, but for the troops on the ground, it was about those you fought with. It came down to living, fighting, and surviving as a team. No solider was strong without the strength of those beside him, and if they all lived according to that, they could, and already accomplished, make Sequoia better than the sum of its components.

That strength was more obvious now than it ever had been to Jack. He was proud to be in this fight against the IMC, alongside his brothers in arms. If they kept up the fight as it stood now, and if they stayed firm as the unit they were now, then Jack had every confidence they'd eradicate the IMC from the Frontier utterly. After all, no matter how potent your army was, if the locals of where you were truly hated you, and truly wanted to be rid of you, then you couldn't stay.

The Militia had that. It was an army of the people, for the people. It just needed to keep the pressure on. Push on, and hit the IMC with every fighter, every ship, every Titan they had.

 _Titans_

Speaking of the Titans, the Vanguard was still near the front of Jack's thoughts. It hadn't left.

From when the fight had ended up until this moment, it hadn't moved far from where it had stood when it felled the IMC Titan. Its cockpit remained sealed, enveloping its pilot still in not just metal, but secrecy as well.

' _I should be over there_. '

He'd been tempted to march right up to it, right away, as soon as the last of the enemy had been dealt with. After the hammering the Vanguard had dished out, there was very little left of the IMC's presence here. Just a few squads, less than 5, and they'd already been disarmed and herded into groups under heavy guard deeper back in town, awaiting transport to a prison ship.

But he hadn't. He'd still been shaking off the last of the tension and fatigue that lingered around him, resting against the wall. It had been a long battle, and everyone would need a while to recover their stamina.

Not that he needed much of that to walk a dozen yards or so to where the Titan was. But, there was more to it.

 _What do I even say ?_

He'd hadn't ever met a pilot before. That was the problem with admiring someone as a hero so much; you put yourself in awe of them, and then, you didn't expect to come face to face with them. If you did, you could easily find that you were unsure of yourself all of a sudden.

 _Knee high to a grasshopper. Face to face with it_

Jack watched the Titan more, sorting through his hesitation as the metal sentinel's armor continued gleaming in the sun, now returned through gaps in the cloud cover.

Despite the damage it had incurred during the battle, the Vanguard still seemed as durable and immovable as an actual Sequoia tree. Even damaged, it still had its weapon ready and primed. Its pilot was no doubt still primed as well, all but daring the IMC to return, and tangle with him again.

The way that massive Titan chaingun was still held in both hands lended itself well to the image that this war machine was awaiting its enemy's return.

Altogether, it presented a visage of strength and resolve. For the uninitiated ( Jack, in other words ), it could indeed be a daunting experience, to approach and talk to someone who controlled that kind of power.

' _Allright. I need to just do it. I need to just talk to him. '_

Some of that resolve and determination that had served him during the battle now came rushing back. He couldn't be sure why, or how, just that after watching them for long enough, he couldn't resist the urge to speak with the Pilot anymore.

He had to find out what it was like to command such a magnificent machine.

 _Here I go. Enough stalling._

Having decided, Jack grabbed his helmet, took his weapon in the other, and stood. His legs still had some soreness to them from having crouched so long, but it wasn't intolerable. He had to meet this champion.

But, just as as took a few step forward-

 _Wait, what's it doing ?_

Jack stopped, in mid step.

Without warning, the Titan had sealed its cockpit, and was on the move !

Toward him. It had pivoted around, and now was striding along, with those heavy, steady steps, right at him !

Jack froze seemingly on his own. It was one matter to watch a Titan in action; it was another have one bearing down on you, even if it was friendly. There was so much power about one, so much potential for it to end you in all kinds of ways. It was akin to facing an elephant.

A heavily armored, and even more heavily armed, elephant.

And he wasn't the only one. Militiamen all around him were just as surprised, with many calling out to their fellows to get ready to move out of the Titans' way, or getting quickly to their feet and clearing the Vanguard a path.

Not that they needed to; the Vanguard gracefully stepped around the men, as easily as it had stepped on the IMC troops. Its footsteps echoed, deep and thrumming.

Jack stood his ground. He'd planned to make his way to _it,_ not the other way around. Still this worked.

He still didn't know what to say, though. Improvising was the only way forward now.

 _You only get one shot at a first impression._

As the Titan drew closer, Jack thought he'd have to step aside as well; the Vanguard didn't seem to be about to stop. But, just as he was about to do so-

The Vanguard did indeed stop, only about about a yard away. It seemed that much larger, so close. Its 25+ ft height _certainly_ seemed more than that.

 _God, they're big !_

In its shadow, Jack and the few other Militiamen nearby could only marvel ( openly or otherwise ) at its scale. That, and the formidable number of tally marks covering its frontal plating.

Then, with less warning than when it began to move, the Titan's cockpit began to open !

* * *

It was a sleek, compact space, as that of a fighter craft. A seat that obviously conformed to whoever was sitting in it took the center, flanked on both sides by armrests adorned with control interfaces, and surrounded on both sides by padded walls, there to cushion the pilot in case his/her restraints came loose. An overhead light was there as well.

All of that, as inherently interesting as it was, took a backseat to the actual _Pilot._

A ' he' , obviously, seated at the helm. His olive drab fatigues were made of a different fabric than those of the riflemen, and were clean and well cared for, as well as his charcoal grey flak vest. Secured in a shoulder sheath was a fighting knife, long and broad, with a hilt that tapered to a point.

Most strikingly of all, though, was his _helmet._

The front of it was festooned with a strange, cyan colored visor, shaped roughly as an ' X '. It wrapped partially around the helmet, and seemed to be lit from in the inside. Jack couldn't quite place why, but there was _something_ about that helmet, especially that visor, that invoked a sensation of mystique and also strength. It was exactly what would make an impression on anyone.

And the one before him had revealed another: he seemed utterly in command, seated high in his Titan. Jack recognized that at once, already deducing one crucial element of living as a pilot:

 _Confidence. You must realize what you are, as a pilot._

No words had been spoken, but he'd gained some knowledge regardless.

" Men, I am glad to find you're alright. "

Finally, the pilot had spoken, addressing them all. He spoke with a strong tone, and a curious accent, an apparent cross between British and South African. It definitely matched his appearance.

More than that, though, the first thing he had to say to them, was how they were doing. They, the common soldiers of the Militia.

Jack abruptly found himself smiling.

" Thank you, sir ! ", he responded. It was more of a boost to his morale than he realized, having a Titan pilot expressing such concern for them.

" I think we'll be ok now, Pilot, but thanks. ", added another Militiaman.

The pilot removed his helmet.

Graying, brushed up hair, above a ruddy, weathered face, decorated by a scar. His chin was adorned by a short, salt and pepper goatee, and his eyes were that same sharp gray.

He definitely appeared as experienced as they'd witnessed him to be.

" If the rest of your unit is made of what you are, then you're in better shape to win this war than I thought. ", he told them. " All of you. You're good men, and good soldiers. "

Jack involuntarily puffed out his chest. He'd been praised before, and he wasn't even much egotistical, but this was from a _pilot !_

 _And I was nervous ?_

 _"_ Sir ! " he replied, now much more at ease. " I am honored, but I don't know your name, sir ".

The corner of the older man's mouth turned up in a slight grin.

" You first, Rifleman. " He seemed aware of the effect a pilot could have on the rank and file.

 _And now a pilot's given me an order_

Jack came back to a position of attention, at once. " Rifleman 3rd Class Jack Cooper, Sir ! "

Silently, he'd hoped he hadn't gotten any of that wrong. If the had, the pilot showed no indication of it. Instead, he nodded, satisfied.

" Pleasure to meet you, Rifleman Cooper. I am Captain Tai Lastimosa. "


End file.
